Cursed by the Gods

by Raye Wagner

  She swallowed a scream and backed up into a solid body. A warm hand held her arm, as if to keep her steady on her feet, and she looked up.

  Athan.

  He stood, oblivious to her, staring at the seizing boy. His brow furrowed, and the muscles in his neck tightened.

  Without another word, she stepped around him and ran.

  What a fool she’d been. How could she have been so naïve? Priska had told her to get the immortal blades. Weeks ago, Hope had been warned. And she’d done nothing.

  When she got home, she went straight to the spare bedroom. She pulled down the first box with her mother’s name on it and opened it. There on top of black velvet sat the heavy leather tome of the history of her curse. With a sigh of relief, she lifted the large book and set it to the side. Her mother always wrapped the immortal blades in velvet. Hope’s arms trembled as she grabbed the bundle and hugged it to her chest.

  It was going to be okay. She had blades. She was home with the statue of Hecate. She was safe.

  Safe.

  She went to her room and sat on her bed. Holding the edge of the fabric, she let the weight of the daggers unroll the material. They fell onto her comforter with a clink, sinking into the puffy down. Sliding her hand around the weapons brought warmth to her soul, a sense of confidence.

  But it didn’t last. Fear drove her to call and text Priska several times over the course of the evening. But the ache in Hope’s chest confirmed her fear as her phone lay silent. Nothing. She would call Mr. Davenport’s office in the morning. Maybe he’d heard something. As she lay in bed, thoughts sprinted through her mind. Skia had killed that boy. No. Not a boy. Skia only killed demigods.

  And now the Skia was hunting her.

  Searing pain jolted her awake. Hope thrashed in the sheets and covers, kicking them away before she ruined them.

  The throbbing started in her hips, radiated down her thighs and into her calves and ankles. Cramping, burning, like muscles that were already sore. The shifting had begun. The tingling of her skin, building until pins and needles poked at each pore. She sat up, and just in time. Her wings released, and the early morning rays of sun streaming through the window made her feathers shine.

  As the previous day’s terror played in her mind, she reached over to the nightstand and checked her phone. No messages.

  Should she leave? Move? Was there anywhere safe to go? While fleeing sounded like doing something, would it matter?

  Gods, if only she could just get ahold of Priska!

  Hope lay in bed, holding her phone, watching as pink streaked the sky, then yellow, and finally, finally it was late enough to call.

  She dialed, silently praying to any god that might be listening that Priska would be back.

  The phone rang only once.

  “Mr. Davenport’s office. This is Melody.”

  The musical lilt reminded her of Sarra, and Hope’s question caught in her throat.

  “Hello?” The woman practically sang. “Anyone there?”

  “Um, hi. This is Hope . . . Treadwell. Is Priska there?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Treadwell.” The chipper voice didn’t sound the least bit sorry. “Priska is still on vacation. We aren’t expecting her back for a few weeks. Is there something I can help you with?”

  On vacation? Right. “Uh, is Mr. Davenport available?”

  “No. He’s in with a client. I’ll tell him you called, if you’d like?”

  Hope’s heart sunk, and she sagged back into her pillows. “Yes, please.”

  “Will do. Thank you.”

  Ten minutes later, her phone buzzed with an incoming text.

  No news from her. Be careful.

  Careful. With a long, slow exhale, she thought of Priska’s advice. Hope would keep a blade with her when she left the house. But would it matter?

  She stumbled out of bed and made her way to the kitchen.

  After breakfast, there wasn’t much to do. She was caught up on homework, and her house was spotless. So that left watching crummy daytime television, reading a book, or surfing the net.

  The claws on her back legs clicked on the floor as she went out to the study. After drawing the blinds, she booted up her laptop and entered demigod into the search engine.

  Eight hundred thousand results.

  There were quizzes to find out if you were a demigod. She wasn’t. Quizzes to find out if your boyfriend/girlfriend was a demigod. She didn’t know enough about anyone to answer the questions except for Priska, who according to the test wasn’t a demigod either!

  Hope typed in Skia.

  Two hundred fifty-nine thousand results.

  She scrolled through the first two pages. A lot about fonts, art graphics, an art gallery . . .

  There!

  Strong’s Greek Site. Skia—shadows of the Underworld, minions of Hades.

  Hope read through page after page after page.

  There was information about the dark immortal blades Skia used to kill demigods and Hades’s deal with Themis that gave him power to create living beings from the dead to restore balance. Could that be right? There was sense to it, but then . . .

  Where did monsters fit in with divine balance?

  She called the school to let them know she was “still sick, but feeling better today.” She expected to be back Monday. Ms. Slate informed Hope that her absences were being noted and she would need to make up her work with her teachers.

  After she hit End on her phone screen, she stuck her tongue out at the black rectangle.

  She was reading when a knock startled her.

  “Hope?”

  A man was at her door?

  The knocking became pounding. “Hope, are you in there?”

  Adrenaline pumped through her body. Who in the world? Was that . . . Was that Athan? What was he doing here?

  She slid off the couch, her gaze focused on the door.

  Another knock. “Hope?”

  The deadbolt was engaged. The curtains and shades were drawn.

  The next knock rattled the window, and his words came in fragments. “Car here . . . two days . . . no way . . .” His voice faded around the side of her house.

  She scanned through her home and noticed, for the first time, that the window above the sink in the kitchen was bare.

  She needed to hide.

  She crept down the hall toward her bedroom, the clicking from her nails shattering the silence and making her cringe. She was halfway there when she noticed the light coming from her doorway. She must have left the blinds open in there.

  The spare room? She couldn’t be sure if the blinds were open or closed. That left only . . . the bathroom?

  Ugh. She grimaced with the thought of sitting in the bathroom for the next few hours, but a tapping coming from her bedroom window made the decision for her. She opened the door, relieved to see the muted light came through a frosted window. There was no way he could see in.

  She shut the door and waited.

  And waited.

  The silence was strained, even after her heart rate slowed. When she heard the crunch of gravel, followed by a vehicle pulling away from her house, she began to relax. Even so, she stayed in the bathroom until she changed back to her human form.

  Cleaning up the fur was the worst part. When she went to take the garbage out, she froze, her foot just missing the small package.

  On her front doorstep lay an envelope. On top of the envelope was a small bouquet of daffodils.

  He’d come by and left her algebra assignments. And flowers.

  Why would he bring flowers?

  Hope never used to count the days. Oh, sure, she would count how many days since their last move, but time as a Sphinx wasn’t a burden then. It meant she could fly. Now, it was one more weight, an ever-present secret, a stressor she couldn’t afford to forget. She counted down, like a time bomb, waiting for the explosion that would kill her. Because she knew—she knew—sooner or later, she would be discovered, and then she would have to run f
or her life.

  But until then, she’d better be on time for school.

  “Oh, craptastic! You came back.”

  She’d just walked through the double doors into the school. A shove from behind, and Hope turned to face her mortal nemesis.

  Krista’s features were contorted into an ugly sneer. “I thought we’d gotten lucky and you moved . . . or died.” She pushed past Hope, followed by her entourage. “Too bad.”

  The words drifted back with a chorus of snickers.

  Hope shook her head and tried to dislodge the words as she went to her locker. What Krista said didn’t matter. She was just an irritation to be ignored. They all were. And yet, the venomous words still pierced the wall around Hope’s heart.

  “Oh. My. Gods. Where were you last week? And Saturday? I totally called you, like a hundred times. Why didn’t you answer?” Haley verbally ambushed Hope. “You totally disappeared after the”—Haley held her hands up in air quotes—“Skia attack, which the teachers are all calling a seizure, by the way. I thought maybe . . . Well, anyway, here you are.”

  “Yep.” Hope closed her locker and offered a tentative smile. She shouldn’t care that Haley came up to her. Shouldn’t care that she wanted to talk to her. In fact, after the Skia attack it was probably better if Hope pushed everyone away. So even while she told herself she shouldn’t care, she knew. She shouldn’t, but she did.

  The bell rang, and both girls jumped.

  “Okay. I’ll meet you for lunch.” Haley furrowed her brow. “Where do you eat lunch?”

  She started walking backwards, forcing others to watch out so they didn’t get bumped by the thin Asian girl.

  Hope waited, debating. The idea of hiding, by herself, brought a heaviness to her chest that threatened to crush her. In that moment, she decided having one person to talk to wouldn’t be wrong. She would still keep all her secrets. “The library.”

  “I’ll come find you,” Haley yelled, and then she sprinted down the hall.

  “So, were you really with Athan last week?” Angela whispered.

  Hope sat in chemistry with her book open, trying to get her make-up work done. There were a few more minutes before class started, and she was scribbling down answers. Maybe if she ignored Angela, she’d leave Hope alone.

  “Hope?” Angela interrupted. Again.

  Hope looked up at the girl. No, that wasn’t fair. She glared at her. Angela was like Krista’s minion, and while Hope didn’t hate her, she definitely didn’t want to have bonding girl time.

  “Were you?”

  Hope grimaced, deciding she’d do everything she could to make it hard for Angela. “Was I what?”

  “Were you with Athan Friday?” Angela’s eyes were alight with curiosity.

  Hope recoiled and wanted to remind the girl what happened to the curious cat. And what she was asking was preposterous. “Why would you ask that?”

  “It’s just a rumor. You were both gone, and someone said you skipped together.” She gave a slight shrug.

  Skipping with Athan? That was insanity. “Uh, no. I was home sick. Thursday and Friday.”

  “No biggie,” Angela said, holding her hands up defensively. “I was just asking.”

  Right. Just asking. Hope shook her head and tried to focus on her work, but the chemical equations now refused to be balanced.

  Students shuffled in, and the bell rang. Mr. Burgess stood, and Krista came running through the door.

  “Sorry. My locker was jammed.” She slid into her seat, tossing her thick curls over her shoulder.

  Hope turned away from the sickly-sweet, honeysuckle scent of Krista’s hair. Hope hated that smell. Something about it made her stomach turn.

  Mr. Burgess started class, and Hope stared dutifully at the board. But her mind wasn’t on chemistry. Instead her mind repeatedly played the same questions over and over in her head. Who started that rumor? And why?

  She could ask Athan in algebra, but just the thought made her palms sweat. No, she would ask Haley at lunch.

  “I heard that!” Haley squealed, and then she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  They sat in the library in the overstuffed chairs in the back corner. The air was musty and smelled of old paper.

  Haley leaned toward Hope and whispered, “Tristan said Lee and Scott were talking about it in gym.”

  Lee and Scott. The freckle-faced boy and Brawny Jock. Why would they care? “I don’t get it.”

  Haley bobbed her head up and down. “I know. It’s so weird. And did you hear about Chelli?”

  Chelli was at home with several broken ribs and a broken leg. Allegedly.

  But if she’d seen the Skia that Saturday at the river, wouldn’t that make her a demigod? And if she was a demigod, wouldn’t she have already healed?

  Hope nodded. “Is she going to be okay?”

  “No one knows. She hasn’t answered her phone since the attack.” Haley arched her eyebrows. “You know what I think?”

  Hope leaned forward.

  “If Chelli could see the Skia attacking Brand . . . that would make her a demigod, too.”

  “Do you think Skia got her, too?” She shouldn’t care. But for some reason, she really didn’t want the other girl hurt.

  Haley shook her head. “I think someone rescued her. Took her to a conservatory, maybe.”

  “Athan?”

  Haley shrugged. “He’d be my guess if he doesn’t come back.”

  “Why wouldn’t he come back?”

  “Um, duh.” Haley laughed. “If he’s a demigod searching for other demigods, what is there to come back for now?”

  Of course. “Right.”

  Hope actually wished he was a demigod, if it meant he wouldn’t come back.

  Hope had just turned in her make-up assignment in mythology when Ms. Slate called her down to the office. She’d known it was coming, but when no one called her to the office yesterday, Hope had thought she might’ve escaped unnoticed. She should’ve known better.

  “Miss Treadwell.” Mr. Jeffers pointed to the seat across from his desk. “Back so soon?”

  “Sir?” She stood to the side of the chair, wanting to avoid the uncomfortable heat.

  “Have a seat, young lady.” His tone brooked no argument.

  She gulped and sat. The sun’s rays began to warm her immediately.

  “I’m a little disappointed to see you again. Are you all right?”

  “I . . . I was sick, sir.” It was the best she’d come up with.

  He nodded. “I see. And do you by chance have a doctor’s note?” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his desk.

  “No.” She shifted to the left, trying to avoid the sun. “I didn’t go to the doctor. I don’t have one here, yet.”

  “Well, I suggest you get one. If you are sick again and miss school, you will need to bring a doctor’s note for your absence to be excused.”

  She nodded. It was so unfair. He was being such a stickler to the rules. And it wasn’t like she wasn’t doing well in her classes. She was getting straight As.

  Jerk.

  “That will be all, Miss Treadwell.”

  Her frustration pulsed, but there was no release. Nothing she could do.

  So she went to algebra.

  “I’m glad you caught up.” Mr. Romero took her assignment and set it on his desk. “We’re moving on to quadratic equations this week, and I’d hate for you to get behind.”

  She nodded and went to her desk. The room filled in the minutes before the bell. Hope bowed her head and focused on the numbers and letters in her book. A tapping on her desk drew her focus, but she kept her head down.

  “Are you okay?”

  She glanced up into Athan’s green, green eyes. Why was he talking to her? He smiled, and she noticed a scab the size of a quarter on his cheek, like the skin had been rubbed off but hadn’t quite healed. She’d taken enough Tae Kwon Do as a kid to recognize a punch to the face. Hmm. He didn’t really seem the fighting type.

 
“You missed school last week.”

  Gods. Why was he talking to her? “I was sick.”

  “I heard. But you’re better now?”

  She couldn’t help the furrow that creased her brow. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone? “I’m back at school.”

  His hands were scratched up, too. And he looked tired.

  “What happened to you?” The question slipped out, and she had no idea where it came from. She wanted to follow it up with a never mind, but the words stuck.

  He chuckled, a low deep sound at the back of his throat, and his gaze travelled over her face, to her lips and then back to her eyes. “Why, Hope, I never thought you’d ask.”

  She wanted to laugh at him, but her blush was short-circuiting her brain.

  “Whatever,” she managed and turned away.

  “I’m fine. I had a little misunderstanding, but things are resolved now.” The tips of his fingers brushed her forearm.

  She flinched. “Did you start that rumor?”

  Athan frowned and shook his head. “What rumor?”

  How had he not heard? “Uh, about you and, uh, me hanging out.”

  Could a blush kill you? She could feel it all the way down to her toes.

  He smiled. “Maybe we should.”

  Halfway through class, Athan brushed by, dropping a note on her lap.

  She unfolded the paper and read: What about dinner tonight?

  She clenched her hands together, crumpling the note into a ball. What the Hades? He was with Stacie, right? And even if he wasn’t, there was no way! She must have given him the wrong impression at some point in their conversation. He needed to leave her alone.

  Hope was the first one up when class was dismissed. She dropped the wad of paper into the garbage on the way out the door.

  “You’re staring at him again,” Haley said.

  Hope dropped her head into her locker and grabbed her chemistry book.

  “What happened? I mean, you look seriously hacked, like he stole your last cookie or something.”

  “Nothing.” She slammed the locker closed. “It’s whatever. He’s a total ’taur.”

  “Did you just call him a ’taur, as in Minotaur? Gods, Hope, you’re so weird.”